birds on a Tuesday morning in June right after the solstice

its just that

when the heart is a weight

you carry

‘cause you can’t get together

to say goodbye to a sister

and you can’t hug

a friend hello or

so long

and you can’t visit

just anyone

and you can’t sing in a group

as one

and you can’t cheer together

for a curtain call

or an encore

or a goal

or sit hushed together waiting

for the pay-off pitch

the sweet songs of prairie birds

in a lush back yard

sun filtering through leaves

like maple seeds

lighten the load

after the storm

grass reaches green

lillies yellow limp

puddles pool calm

coolness awakens

irises bow purple heads

maples turn rainforest

world rights itself

after searing heat and wind

Carrol Loewen (1951-2020)

had a way            a style

distinct

inner farm girl

outer urban chic

vivified a room she

entered

hands clapping your presence

with full presence of her being

laughed at

life

whether kind or unkind

for now was now and that was all

painted a life where she

was

broad stylish strokes

in schools with people in places she lived

a canvas full of colour

Roger on trampoline

the up and down

the stretch and rebound

the arms for balance

the feet set free

the laughs and calls

the did you sees

the hat brim flop

the constant grin

the dry wind gusts

the constant chatter

like water over rocks

the bounce in the step of life

mini memory

who do you remember

what do you remember

mini golf at Falcon

and I got  my putter and dimpled ball

in the booth

was Miss Dyck

my grade three music teacher

so pretty

so cheerful and

there was a crack on the pavement

where my black and white runners stumbled

I didn’t love hockey

or baseball so much

reading and history came later

but I remember

I was eight

when I learned that I love to sing